Hardboiled
by 808tenshi
Summary: Private Investigator Yagami Hayate. Murder, mystery, intrigue. AU set to the tune of the Hardboiled Noir genre. Probably as OoC as most AUs tend to be.


Disclaimer: Do not own. Entertainment purposes only. Blahblahblah.

Rated: "T" for language.

Chapter one:

It was a shitty night. But then again, most of them around here are.

Rain in the middle of July, disgusting. If the damned heat weren't enough, God up in Heaven decided that he just had to take a leak and muck things up even more.

I tugged at the collar of my shirt, undoing another button. To hell if it looked unprofessional. No one with two-wits about them would be coming around in this weather.

The simple cotton shirt that I had donned this morning now stuck to my back, matted with sweat. My slacks felt as if they were molding my ass from the moisture, but I couldn't really be sure, maybe I was just getting fatter. Lack of work and motivation will do that to a person, or so I hear.

The small and ancient fan that sat a-top my file cabinet buzzed noisily, sounding like it would either kick the bucket in a moment or explode. Wouldn't that be dandy? I can see the headline now: "Local P.I. Dismembered by Rouge Fan Blade".

Then again, I mused, pouring myself another glass of whiskey, it might be better to die now than live through another day of this blasted heat.

Wandering to the small window overlooking the street, I swiped a hand across it to clear away the condensation. Water ran in streams down the side of the street and thundered into the sewers; here and there a neon sign flickered on and off. Somewhere in the distance a siren sounded; its high pitch cutting through the incessant patter of rain.

I studied my reflection for a moment, and frowned at an oddly angled tuff of auburn hair jutting out from the top of my head. Despite the fact that I had always kept it short—barely shoulder length—for convenience, it still managed to annoy the hell out of me. My face had developed a slightly ruddy complexion, no doubt a sign that I had drunk a little too much in my boredom.

I sighed, deciding to call it a night. There was no point in getting piss-faced in my stuffy little office when I could just as easily do it in the comfort of my stuffy little apartment.

Sometimes I wondered why I even bothered to come in to work. Business had been slowing for a while and now it moved about as fast as a bike with a busted wheel. Hell, the last client I'd has had been some over-feed Prima Donna, with so many chins I'd lost count, asking to find her lost "Schmoopsie-kins". I'd found him, alright, digging for food in a dumpster behind a deli on Fifth. After chasing the lard-ridden tabby around town for over half a day—fat cats still run pretty damned fast—the little bastard had given me a "badge" right under my left eye when I'd scooped him up.

No one had need for a private investigator, not when the city had so many up-standing, beer guzzling, donut stuffed badges nowadays, I thought with a sardonic smirk. Putzes, the lot of them. My disdain for cops was nothing new, but it wasn't something I'd always had. A story for another day, perhaps.

I swallowed the last of what was in my glass and set it down next to the half empty decanter. My back to the window, I slid open the top draw of my desk where I kept my piece when I wasn't expecting any unpleasant company to drop it. I slid the gun out of its leather holster, smooth as butter, and ran a thumb lovingly over the slide. The Classic Star Model P had seen me through more tough situations than I'd have time to tell over a case of whiskey and was worth much more.

'Shame the only action the poor old thing had seen of late was the ceremonial mating dance of the dust bunnies that I'm sure bred and merged to into larger entities inside my desk drawer. I angled my body, lifting the gun in a practiced pose, and aimed the sight at the center of my door, simply reacquainting myself with the feel.

With the gush of the rain and the rumble of my fan, I hadn't heard the footsteps nor seen the shadow until the moment the glass-paned door squeaked open.

"Bang…" The word escaped my lips in a slip of breath.

The girl who stood there, eyebrow arched and hip slightly cocked, stared at me down the barrel of my gun.

Damn, what a looker.

Silken blonde hair flowed elegantly down her shoulders and far past her lower back. A few locks of hair curled inward drawing the perspective to a rather magnificent pair of brea- collarbones. The sleek, midnight-blue dress she wore clung to her body, showing off a perfect figure. Diamonds winked in her ears and around her neck like stars and I couldn't help but wonder whether that getup was designed cling that way or if it was the humidity granting mankind a gift from the gods. I guess it hardly mattered, I bet she'd have looked just as good in a paper bag.

I lowered the gun, and tucked it behind my back, sung in the waistband of my pants.

"Ah…" I licked my lips, as I directed my focus to the blonde's face. Her coral-pink lips were pursed in a display of displeasure and her eyes, a deep, dark red like a finely aged burgundy were fixed on mine, unreadable.

"Quite the welcome."

With a wisp of silk on silk, she moved into the room, letting the door click closed behind her. As if the office were simply a part of her domain, she moved to the bar and after a sniff at my blend, poured herself a finger and sipped.

"Tell me," she said as she leaned against the hardwood counter, a small, taunting smile now playing on her lips, "do you often greet your clients with the muzzle of your gun?"

"Only when they're liable to try and kill me with their looks." I grinned back, a woman never kept me speechless for long. Sure, it wasn't the most suave line, I'll admit, but I was a little pressed.

She didn't laugh, but her eyes twinkled with something that might have been amusement.

"I didn't come here to be flattered, Detective, I have a request of you."

I kept my smile friendly.

"That's a shame, lady—"

"Fate. Fate Testarossa-Harlaown." She interrupted, seemingly annoyed at being called "Lady."

I nodded my head slightly in acquiesce.

"As you say, Fate." I winked. "But, as I was about to say, it must be a terrible thing for you not to want flattery, as I'm sure you get it where ever you go."

She didn't smile at that either. A tough cookie, I mused as she continued, pretending not to hear me.

"I'd like to employ your services. I'd heard you were reliable."

I sighed audibly. So it was going to be straight business for now.

"I was. And I like to think that I still am."

"Good." Setting the glass down, she turned for the door.

"Good?" I mimed, slightly annoyed by her attitude. Looks sure didn't buy manners. "Are you going to tell me what it's about? Or should I just have a go at reading your mind?"

Her hand on the door knob, she glanced back, over her shoulder.

"I don't want to speak about it here. Come to the estate tomorrow at noon and we'll talk. And, oh…" She added as a supposed after-though, "…try not to be drunk."

With that, she stepped out, closing the door behind her as I gaped. How rude, I sure as hell was not even close to drunk!

Who in the world did this lady think she was? I sucked in air through clenched teeth in an attempt to calm myself, reminding myself that work made me money and money bought me booze so that I could more easily tolerate people like her.

That was it; I was definitely calling it a night. I shrugged into my coat and tugged my hat onto my head, locking the door behind me.

Under the arched entranceway, I stood just watching the rain fall and drip onto the dully illuminated sidewalk. Water splashed my face, cool against my flushed skin, and plopped rhythmically onto the brim of my hat as I headed homeward, promising myself a reward of a bottle of beer for the fact that I'd been relatively polite.

It wasn't until later that night, after I'd kicked my shoes off and stripped down to my unmentionables that I'd realized she hadn't even told me where she lived. I swore for the hell of it and tucked my arms behind my head as I gazed at the darkened ceiling. Well, wouldn't that be just a 'fuck you' if I couldn't find the place and her gorgeous ass had to come and find me again. I pictured that scene, both her rage and butt, as I drifted off; it was a damned lovely thought.

* * *

><p>AN: Crack version of a serious idea bourne of Aki… Eagle… Extrinsical, whatever the hell she's calling herself these days. I do so enjoy the 'hardboiled' Noir genre, so there you have it. I consider it 'crack' less in the sense of a courtroom jester and more religious fanatic kind of way. I suppose I could simply label it an AU, but that still doesn't feel right seeing as how I've taken such liberties with various characters and their personalities. Also, let it hereby be known that I only write if I am bribed, threatened or otherwise coerced. I'll let you guess which occurrence resulted in this story.

Forever and always, corrections, comments, flames. If not, thanks for reading.


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